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going?”
    “Not far. Just to the star-watching rock.”
    Mr. Murry rinsed his teacup, rinsed it, and rinsed it again. “You’re still a child.”
    “I’m fifteen. And there’s nothing to hurt me between home and the star-watching rock.”
    “All right. Don’t stay long.”
    “No longer than necessary.”
    “Take Ananda with you.”
    “I need to be alone. Please, Father.”
    Mr. Murry took off his glasses, looked at his son through them at a distance, put them on again. “All right, Charles.”
    Meg looked at her mother and guessed that she was holding back from telling her youngest child not to forget to put on boots and a warm jacket.
    Charles Wallace smiled toward their mother. “I’ll wear the blue anorak Calvin brought me from Norway.” He turned the last of his smile to his sister, then went into the pantry, shutting the kitchen door firmly behind him.
    “Time for the rest of us to go to bed,” Mrs. Murry said. “You particularly, Meg. You don’t want to catch more cold.”
    “I’ll take Ananda with me.”
    Her father objected. “We don’t even know if she’s housebroken.”
    “She ate like a well-trained dog.”
    “It’s up to you, then.”
    Meg did not know why she felt such relief at the coming of the big yellow dog. After all, Ananda could not be her dog. When Calvin returned from London they would go back to their rented apartment, where pets were not allowed, and Ananda would remain with the Murrys. But that was all right; Ananda, she felt, was needed.
    The dog followed Meg upstairs as though she’d been with the Murrys all her life, trotted through the cluttered attic and into Meg’s room. The kitten was asleep on thebed, and the big dog sniffed the small puff of fur, tail wagging in an ecstasy of friendliness. Her tail was large and long, with a smattering of golden feathers, which might possibly indicate some kind of setter or Labrador blood in her genetic pattern, the kind of tail which could create as much havoc in a china shop as a bull. The kitten opened its eyes, gave a small, disinterested hiss, and went back to sleep. With one leap, Ananda landed on the bed, thumping heavily and happily with her mighty tail. The kitten rose and stalked to the pillow.
    As she had so often said to Fortinbras, Meg announced, “Sleeping on the bed isn’t allowed.” Ananda’s amber eyes looked at her imploringly and she whined softly. “Well—only up here. Never downstairs. If you want to be part of this household you’ll have to understand that.”
    Ananda thumped; light from the student lamp glinted against her eyes, turning them to gold. Her coat shone with a healthy glow.
    “Make way for me.” Meg climbed back into bed. “Now, Ananda”—she was taking comfort in reverting to her child’s habit of talking out loud to the family animals—“what we’re going to do is listen, very intently, for Charles Wallace. You have to help me kythe, or you’ll have to get off the bed.” She rubbed her hand over Ananda’s coat, which smelled of ferns and moss and autumn berries, and felt a warm and gentle tingling, which vibrated through her hand and up her arm. Into hermind’s eye came a clear image of Charles Wallace walking across what had once been the twins’ vegetable garden, but which was now a small grove of young Christmas trees, a project they could care for during vacations. Their magnificent vegetable garden had been plowed under when they went to college. Meg missed it, but she knew that both her parents were much too busy to tend to more than a small patch of lettuce and tomatoes.
    Charles Wallace continued to walk along the familiar route.
    Hand resting on Ananda, the tingling warmth flowing back and forth between them, Meg followed her brother’s steps. When he reached the open space where the star-watching rock was, Ananda’s breathing quickened; Meg could feel the rise and fall of the big dog’s rib cage under her hand.
    There was no moon, but starlight touched the